


Stretching Over Life

by paperdragon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Basically Regina angsting about her pathetic love life, F/M, and may I just say that i love it, rated for language, this was raw and instense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:37:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdragon/pseuds/paperdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His arms are around her, and she doesn't even care about the fact that she's probably going to die if she doesn't stop purposely choking, but all that matters to her right now is that he is touching her. The man with the lion tattoo. The man whose thought has terrified her for all her life. She's decided that her life is a fucked up, pathetic, shriveled up excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretching Over Life

“You should get a tattoo.” He says one day.   
It’s a beautiful day- a day you’d like to go frolicking in a meadow and not care about anything, but a very pregnant Mary Margaret and her family had already announced their plans for a picnic. The sun is shining, its rays making golden pathways for even the simplest people. Instead of being invited to the picnic on this very fine day- Regina has the golden opportunity to do Emma’s job instead of her own. She humphs loudly, and settles down further into her chair- after all, she’s not going to come out and say that she’s bitter about the fact that even Hook was invited, for god’s sake, especially not in front of Robin.   
Not the Robin Hood, just no. not even if he’s the only she properly talks to anymore, or the fact that he’s slowly gotten under her skin or that he’s slowly becoming one of the people she looks forward to when she wakes up. Hell no. Instead, she inwardly decides to focus on his question.  
“What? Why?” She asks, not even slightly curious. Hook and his silly invitation are still lingering in her mind.  
He doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to mind. His son’s at preschool, the love of his life is dead, and yet he still manages to smile. She wonders how that’s possible.  
“Because, they’re great. And in this world, they aren’t even that painful.” He tells her, and she finds herself wanting to continue the conversation.  
“Let me guess.” She starts, rolling her eyes. “You’re saying this because you have one? What is it? A heart with an arrow? Some weird moral written?”   
He laughs a little, and she does too. He takes a bite of one of the donuts from the box on the table, and pushes it towards her, as an invitation. She stands up and walks over to the box, and looks at him sanding a few feet away, expectantly.  
“No, your majesty.” He replies, and she throws a pencil at him, which he easily dodges.  
He smiles, the same one that she can’t figure out, and takes his sweet time answering her. “It’s a lion, m’lady.”   
No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Hell no. Fuck no. Hell fucking no. Incapable to even no.  
She chokes on the donut she’s kept in her mouth, and coughs loudly- making elaborate gestures by hitting her chest with her fist. He looks worried, and she stops him from coming over.  
He still does. And now, his arms are around her, and she doesn’t even care about the fact that she’s probably going to die if she doesn’t stop purposely choking, but all that matters to her right now is that he is touching her. The man with the lion tattoo. The man whose thought has terrified her for all her life. And she suddenly realizes that she can’t be here. She breaks out of his hold somehow- Lord knows how- and makes a dash for it. She doesn’t even bother taking her purse, she jus runs out of the room leaving him baffled. She comes back a minute later, grabs her purse, and then runs back out.   
________________________________________  
She spends the nest week in pure bitterness and marathoning Spanish soap operas. Truth be told, it’s getting way too cliché. Mary Margaret’s left about forty messages on her phone and Regina’s heart feels nice for a few seconds, not that she’d ever admit it. She feels like dying slowly- because she’s been friends with the man she’s supposed to be with. She’s been talking and laughing -everyday or the last four months- with the man whose life she’s supposedly ruined.   
Embarrassment and disbelief is already crowding her, what’s worse is that she’s become used to talking to he-who-must-not-be-named and feels restless just not talking to him. And oh, she’s close to dialing Rumplestilskin and asking him to have drink with her for old time’s sake and talk about his newest evil plan of world domination- anything that’ll get her mind of him. Maybe she can try her hand at necromancy and bring back her dead mother back and talk her into going to a wine tasting.   
Anything that’ll make her think of something else, because she can’t bear to think about him right now. She stands up and starts cleaning the entire place. Thankfully, as soon as she’s done with the living room, there’s a knock on her door. She starts to open it, annoyed that Mary Margaret has probably sent Emma to talk to her. Her eyes flick to the person standing there.  
Well.  
Fuck.   
Fuck everything.  
Fuck everything and then some more. And then, un-fuck it and fuck it back up again for good measure.   
The object of her angst is standing in front of her with a look on his face, and she knows she’s in for a horrible questionnaire. The thoughts enough to make her want to slam the door on his comely face.  
But she can’t do that, and he starts telling her that he’s been calling her and everyone’s worried sick about her- and she can’t even listen to him properly because there’s this weird feeling in the middle of her chest and she feels like she can’t breathe- because her fucking soul mate is standing in front of her, and he doesn’t know that he’s her soul mate, but if he keeps standing there and looking pretty and asking question in that worried voice she’s going to spill it all out to him in the next second and then-  
And then what? What’ll happen? Maybe he’ll run like she does. Maybe she’ll lose the one friend she’s come to like. Or maybe, he’ll reciprocate the feelings she has towards him and then she’ll have to let go of Daniel and be with him in a relationship and what not, and it’s fucking terrifying. It’s more terrifying then finding the happy-go-lucky couple of snow white and charming naked in bed together.   
He’s giving her a look now, and she’s mentally yelling at herself to ‘talk, talk, talk, talk’, but she still hasn’t said anything and is simply staring at him, and she’s pretty sure she looks like she’s retarded or something. And if that isn’t the worse thing ever, her phone starts to ring and she can’t close the door with the pathetic excuse she’d thought of on his face, so she still just stares at him. It’s the worst moment of her life- okay, maybe not the worst, but it’s still pretty close. She can tell he’s really worried, and she’s sure when he grabs her from her shoulders and shakes her hard, as if that’ll help her retain her intelligence. Now she’s worried about herself too, because he’s saying something and she can’t even hear him anymore, and somewhere in the back of her head the stupid phone is still ringing in that high-pitched bird tune.   
She has two choices right now. She can either nicely invite him in, tell him everything and metaphorically put her heart n the table and wait and hope for what he’ll do, or she can shut the door on his face with a few stupidly simple, one-syllable words. She quickly decides that stupid excuse it is, because the day she puts her heart on the table for anyone is the day the hell freezes over and she can go roller skating over it.  
“I’m sick.” The answer comes tumbling out of her mouth and he gives her that look again, and before he can decide to call any doctor, she shuts the door and locks it. Her back’s pressed against the door, and she’s pretty sure he might kick it open, but thankfully he doesn’t.  
For all her trysts in making him leave, she misses him as soon as she hears his footsteps echo away.  
________________________________________  
The next day, there’s a knock on her door. She peeks in, and it’s Mary Margaret with her cheery glowing face and her pregnant stomach smiling widely at her from the door. Well, fuck my life.  
She starts walking make to the comfy chair in her office- but there’s another knock. She’s sure to ignore it, but it’s Emma yelling this time. She opens the door, and instead of asking to come in, the brilliant hero and savior of everyone-pushes in and is followed by almost every single person she knows. Even Gold is there, smiling gleefully, and Regina is sure that he’s probably enjoying it more than fantasizing about killing the pirate.  
When half the fucking town has gathered into her living room- which is thankfully big enough, Emma coughs loudly and starts talking.   
“Regina, this is an intervention.” She says, and Regina’s met with about twenty pairs of eyes- make that nineteen, because Gold is so not part of them- filled to the brim with pity. Gold looks more like he just won a fucking Oscar, and is currently being clapped for by every being on the planet with a television.  
She gives him the evil eye, but it doesn’t faze him; he knows she’s not the one in power here. Annoyed by the fact she knows this too, she tries to recognize everyone. There’s Red Riding hood, there’s Granny, there’s Hook- bloody hell what the fuck, there’s Emma, Charming, and Mary Margaret, Dr. Whale- get that fucker out of my house, Cinderella, Philip, and Ariel and what’s-his-face prince with Aurora and Mulan- what the fuck are they doing here and the eight dwarves- even her fucking son is there, and she internally kills everyone in the room eighteen-hundred times in her mind. Others include Neal- why the fuck is he here again? He’s got more shit to answer for than her; even Tara is there- like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people.  
And when the fuck did she start cursing so much? Like even in her fucking mind, because she doesn’t remember doing it a couple of months back- okay, maybe those months have been a couple of years.   
Moreover, she isn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry that he isn’t here with is son- one side of her is thanking every single deity and God she can think of because there is no way she can face him knowing that he’s the fucking one she’s been hiding from- and the other side of her is fuming with rage because hell, did he have to leave her alone with all the people she hates? Okay, hate is a strong word- people she doesn’t love. Well apart from Henry. And Gold. Okay, so maybe she doesn’t really love Gold, but at least he knows she’s not going to change her ways and is capable of having a conversation with that doesn’t have something to do with a heart-to-heart that Mary Margaret is always looking forward to having with her.   
Again, she’s completely somewhere else in la-la land, because apart from those four word’s Emma has said, Regina hasn’t heard a fucking word anybody’s been saying for last- her eyes flick to the clock- fifteen minutes. Has it really been that long since she’s been mentally fucking with herself and questioning her existence? Her eyes flick to them, because the tiny squabbling voices in the back of her head have stopped, and she’s pretty sure the people who those voices belong to are staring at her the way Robin did yesterday. Okay, she tells herself, she has to say something before somebody really calls the mental institution- and could gold stop his incessant giggling because it is getting on her fucking nerves, because she’s close to kicking someone- most likely whoever organized this fuck fest- between their legs with her four-hundred dollar heels.   
She realizes that she still hasn’t said anything, and is still going on about the fucked up pathetic excuse she calls life inside her head. They’re all staring at her again, and she considers fainting, but hell, everyone will probably see through that and even faking insanity is a better idea.  
“Everyone get out, now!” She screams and it’s pretty much enough for everyone to go into super-slayer mode. She’s reminded of that TV series she’d once caught one cable- some blonde girl in high school slaying vampires and demons- and for a minute she mentally debates on who has the worst life. Okay, she has it. Slayer-girl doesn’t come fucking close.   
She narrows her eyes, and gives them her best stare, and Gold looks strangely proud. In the end, it’s him that gets everyone to leave, but she still feels like kicking every single one of them really hard on the way out as a thank you gift.  
She’s come to the realization that life sucks and she hopes to die really fast because another day in this town is probably going to drive her to suicide, and she feels like she’s acting like a melodramatic spoiled brat- but seriously, she’s pretty sure she can’t take much more. She slams the door trying to convey all her emotions in one action.  
________________________________________  
Her head feels like someone hit it really hard with a sack full of wet cement. She’s also aware that she should probably stop talking to herself because my god, she’s really starting to expect a van coming to take her to the psych ward every time she hears a door bell, which is everyday- thanks to hormonal Mary Margaret. Regina’s proud of the commitment Snow has and some small part of her that will never see the light of day is delighted by the fact that someone fucking cares, but the other part of her is still annoyed by the fact that Snow is on maternity leave from primary teaching and is free to bother her to have girly talks about feelings. Not to mention- she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, because they’re filled with one particular thief who she can’t stop fucking thinking about, and the accent and the idea of what his lips will feel like against hers, and she’s pretty sure that she’s going to have to admit herself to a freaking hospital because if she doesn’t- she’s probably going to drive herself mad, with thanks to Mary Margaret and her fucking maternity leave.  
Oh, and no fucking help from Gold either, because he’s simply not on her fucking side anymore, since the Charmings have won him over with their hopeful talks- she knows what’s really made him switch sides, it’s his girlfriend; Belle, who has him whipped. So apart from being continuously pestered by a hormonal Snow white, she has no one to talk to- because the only person she’d been thinking of as a friend for the past year is supposed to be her fucking soul mate and no, she still can’t fucking think about it, and that’s why she’s drinking as much as she possibly can without vomiting on a Friday night in some God forsaken bar, whose top floor is being occupied by Cinderella’s baby boy’s fourth birthday party or some fuck-fest like that.   
The shot burns the entire way it goes down, and it isn’t helping in the slightest way- not in keeping her wallet full or stopping her from mentally conversing with herself or stopping the voices in her head telling her to do certain things that make her want to rip her heart back out and shove it someplace no one will ever find it. It’s only making her dizzy and making her talk to herself more about how fucked up her life has become.   
She drags herself home- drunk and uncomfortable, because the dress she’s wearing is too fucking tight, and she’s glad that there’s no one waiting for her who can see her the way she looks like right now.  
________________________________________  
It’s a fucking charity dinner, and she cannot believe it but she’s still mayor, and has to attend. And of course, not that she’s here she fucking regrets it more than using up that ring of Daniel’s for a poisoned apple, because everyone is there, and he’s there, and he’s staring at her because he’s fucking opposite from her and she feels like stabbing herself with the shiny utensils she’s supposed to be eating with. That also might have something to do with the fact that Mary Margaret is sitting right fucking next to her and keeps asking her if she wants something or tell her to pass the stuffed duck or some other thing, and she has to smile and pass it because her son is sitting next to her, and his son is sitting next to Henry, and for some reason she can’t fucking say anything that’s on her mind.   
She can’t believe that her life’s gone from pretty bearable to this fucked up, shriveled excuse she’s living, all because of a fucking conversation about a fucking tattoo. Snow pokes her again, smiling in her best way, and she spies gold giving a cheeky grin and she feels like crawling over the table to him and stabbing him through the eyes with the polished cutlery because maybe, maybe, it just might fucking make her feel a tiny bit okay, and she needs t feel a tiny bit okay, or otherwise she’s going to go psycho Norman Bates and try to kill everyone.   
As soon as the waiter’s done pouring her glass of wine, she pulls him back down.   
“Leave the bottle. I’m going to need it.” She tells him, and he gives her a sympathetic glance, and sets the bottle of cabernet back down near her.   
She drinks the entire thing in one gulp, and starts pouring in another one. She can feel Robin’s eyes on her and she fills it to the top- and then proceeds to drink the entire thing. She’s wrong, she realizes- she’s going to need more than one bottle to get through four hours of this.   
By the time she’s done, her stomach’s sloshing, and the hotel’s wine collection has suffered a serious dent because she’s had three bottles of wine- god knows how- and is unable to even think. Sadly, she doesn’t need to think while mentally debating with herself, because nowadays that’s the only shit she can do.  
To say she’s glad the fucking hotel has a room she can stay in for the night is a serious understatement.  
________________________________________  
She’s invited by the stupid Charming’s for a picnic, only because Henry asks her to, and she can’t say no to her son. No matter how annoying she finds Snow’s happy-hopeful talk to be, or the fact that Hook and Emma are having eye sex whenever they think no one is looking, or that Neal looks like his heart’s been stepped on by one of her high heeled shoes. But mostly because- oh god she’s admitting this to herself over weird sandwiches with God knows what in them- because she wants it. She wants to be like Charming and Snow, okay not exactly by them, because if she’s ever like that she’ll ask someone to please impale her with an axe because it would be bloody disgusting to give someone the googly eyes. Even him.   
And that is saying something.  
________________________________________  
It’s been exactly three weeks since the whole tattoo reveal. And Regina has come to hate tattoos. She’s given up on everything, and proof of that is sitting on her couch- Semhar, some peace instructor whose named herself in Sanskrit. She’s been brought here by Mary Margaret and is currently telling Regina that her house is too dark and that she needs something light to give her a positive outlook on life. Well that’s a load of bullshit, she thinks. If changing color had to do anything with anything I’d have done it a long fucking time ago. She gives Mary Margaret a look filled with disbelief. Mary Margaret gives her a reassuring look and beams at the fact that she’s agreed in the first place. Not much she can do when a seven month pregnant woman shows up at your doorsteps with someone who has dread locks and looks like a mutated hipster-gypsy.   
Now, the hipster-gypsy- self-proclaimed Semhar- is telling her that she needs to remain celibate for about five years, because the pureness will make her happy inside, and during this time she should get to know herself; talk to herself and discover who she is. It’s all Regina can do to stop herself from ripping those dreadlocks and shoving them down Semhar’s fucking throat which is sprouting unbelievable bull shit every fucking time it opens.   
As if she needs five years to talk to herself, she’s fucking doing it right now. She gives Mary Margaret the best evil eye she can manage, and tries to convey her message through the most-likely non-existing telepathic connection they don’t share. For some reason- praise the Lord- she understands, and ushers Semhar out- and for once, Regina doesn’t feel like kicking her.  
The next day, she’s dragged to a yoga place, where the gothic woman guiding them bangs a gong right next to her ear. At least on the way back, she has an excuse as to why wasn’t listening to snow. For a while she wonders If this is what her life is now, a sad, sucky excuse filled with Spanish operas, and Semhar-s and yoga institutes, and Mary Margaret’s one-sided heart-to-hearts. It’s enough to make her want to crash the car.  
________________________________________  
She’s sitting next to Gold for some god-forsaken reason her brain doesn’t seem to find important. She’s looking away- she’s staring at the tiny drop of mud on Gold’s shoe, but she’s not looking at Robin. Because she’s a coward and she can’t face what’s going on in her heart. Rumplestilskin of course, can’t let her do that.  
“Love is a magical thing.” He says, and for some rare reason she doesn’t find any teasing in his tone.  
She sighs, not wanting to answer him. But right now, he’s the only person she can talk to who won’t gush, or squeal or cry under hormones- and might just know what she feels like.   
“Until it’s gone.” She tells him, but he sees right through the hybrid truth and lie.  
“Love, your Majesty, is unknown territory. It is change, and fearsome. But with the right one, it’s magical. It’s sort of like flying.” He says, and she stares at him like he’s grown two heads. Because she’s always thought that the day Rumplestilskin said something sincerely, it would be the day she willingly gave her crown to Snow and became a midwife. Un-fucking-believable what was happening to her.   
________________________________________  
And for some fucked up reason, she’s kissing him in the back alley near the station, where Emma and David are probably still in, but she really doesn’t give a shit because this is what she’s been thinking of and dreaming of for the past year she’s known him- and then she realizes that she’s probably going to spill out everything she isn’t supposed to and that’s enough to bitch-slap her back into reality.   
She’s pretty sure how they got here in the first place, she was leaving and he was out here, and then he was close, too close and then she was shoved up against the wall, struggling between the choice of breathing or kissing him. She’s not really sure what she’s going to do after that, and the wall comes down so fast she doesn’t even have time to blink.   
She pushes him away , fixes her hair, and walks away- as if she does that all the time- while she’s fucking dying inside because Oh fucking Jesus Christ the whole thing is fucked up and stupid and now she won’t be able to even think about him- but she wants it to happen again, and will someone please run her over with their fucking car so this whole fuck fest can be over?  
________________________________________  
She cannot believe it, but it’s been a month since their last meeting, and she misses him. She misses him to the point where she wants to go and tell him everything, because at least she’d know what he’d tell her, and there’s that feeling of fear shooting into her again and the ‘Hell fucking No’ her mind’s just told her.   
His adorable munchkin of a son isn’t helping the case either, because he just comes over to her and calls her Miss Regina and sits down right next to her as if she’s someone he sees every day.  
“Why don’t you talk to my papa anymore?” He asks, and she almost says everything to him about why exactly she isn’t talking to anyone but her God damn self. But she manages to stop herself, because the poor kid does not need to be traumatized at such a young age with all of the shit going on in her life.   
Her brain is so overworked by continuously analyzing her life falling apart; it’s coming up with excuses worse than a three- year-old. It tells her to tell Roland that she’s dying of cancer. Then it offers a solution that his dad is dying of cancer. Then it tell her to tell the poor boy that she’s actually a robot with no feelings. Regina inwardly dies of embarrassment at what her state of mind has come to be.   
What the fuck is she supposed to tell him? Maybe, just maybe, he’ll believe the robot story?  
“I just have a few things to figure out.” She tells him, and he gives her the same look of disbelief his father gives her, and she inwardly curses herself. You still have time to change your story, her mind says, and she squashes her toe with one other heels to shut it up.  
“Well when you finish, be friends with him again. He looks sad without you.” He says, and then walks off- leaving her brain to start churning out debate papers to her mental selves who start arguing. He’s sad without her? Why? Maybe it’s because he feels what she feels- wait, no, that can’t happen. No one can like her the way she is. She’s mean, and horrid and evil, for God’s sake, even she doesn’t like herself- so he can’t like her either.   
She pinches herself, because she’s acting like a small child again, and she can’t fucking do that because she’s supposed to be Evil Queen Regina who has no feelings and does all the bad things that need to be done and doesn’t care that she needs to be the bad guy to do them. But throughout this whole fuck fest, she isn’t really sure what the fuck she is anymore, and that’s enough to make her want to go back to watching soap operas.  
________________________________________  
It’s the most fucking important moment of her life, because everyone’s depending on her, and if she loses against the wicked witch or Zelena or whoever the fuck she is, she’s going to die and so is her entire family and all the people she knows and she can’t have that. She doesn’t know why she’s being called a hero and has been sent forward to fight against the witch- playing hero is suppose to be one of the Charmings’ job, because she’s the villain and villains are not hero’s. She knows that if she loses, she’s going to have to face so much disappointment, and everyone she knows is going to die because of her, because she wasn’t strong enough, and because she was too fucking busy thinking about every other fucking thing in the world instead of the fight she’s supposed to be focusing on. She’s straining against herself, trying to hold on her position, and so is Zelena, opposing her purple gust with her own green one.   
And instead of thinking about what the fuck she’s doing, she’s thinking about what he’s going to say after it’s all over- if it’s all over- and what else is going to happen, and she’s thinking about Daniel and the ring and all the other fucked up things going on. Most of all she’s thinking about their conversation before she entered the castle-  
They’re standing outside the castle, because Zelena has stolen every fucking spell book she owns and has transferred them all to the enchanted forest again, and although she looks amazing in her gown and feathers and fur, it’s still hard to fight in. She’s pretty sure she’s going to die and never see them again, so she talks to him a few moments before she goes in to finish what she’s started.   
“You’re the one I’m supposed to be with.” She tells him, because fuck fear right now, he’s probably going to find her body and she won’t have to deal with the rejection or whatever else he tells her. Because she needs to get the weight of her chest or she’s going to pass out- and it won’t be fake. “You’re my soul mate. You’re the man with the lion tattoo, and you’re the man I love.”  
Oh God. He looks at her like she’s slapped him a couple of times with a fish, and she’s regretting the decision badly, because Oh shit what the fuck has she done?  
What’s worse is the realization that if she survives in the after math, she’s going to have to deal with the fucking answer and reality, and she doesn’t want to fucking do that. So she’s pushed into the castle she once called her home by people telling her that they believe in her and that they’re depending on her, and she shouldn’t let them down and break all their expectations, and she feels like tearing at the stone walls because she’s the worst person to have expectations for, or to believe in because she’ always breaks it, and the disappointment and self-loathing that comes after is so, so not fucking worth the support they give you at first.   
-And her flashback is cracked when the wicked witch sends another sphere of magic towards her, and she blocks it, thankfully, and counters.   
She’s in for the fight now, she realizes, because yes, she wants to go out there alive and kiss him while running her hands through his hair, and she wants to talk to his son, and tell him that she loves him every single day or the rest of her life, and if he doesn’t feel the same way, then well- life will go on in the sad, pathetic excuse it is going on now. Maybe she will become celibate and travel the world ruining other’s lives like Semhar is.  
She attacks with everything she has- a fireball born out of all the frustration in her- and it hits Zelena with perfect aim, and she goes up in flames, screaming and yelling. She doesn’t even notice what’s happening until they open the castle, all bloodied from the fight with Zelena’s minions. He comes close to her, and she can feel her heart thumping loudly, and her head’s feeling light- but he kisses her, and she has nothing to fear. She doesn’t care that everyone’s looking, or the fact that Mary Margaret is fake crying in the corner, or that Hook and Emma are doing the same thing too, or that Semhar’s going to be waiting for her on Tuesday afternoon all by herself- she only cares that the man she loves, who most likely loves her too- thank the Gods for that- is with her, and she’s in love, and even though she’s still worried about what’s going to happen in the future- she isn’t horrified about it.  
Because love is terrifying, it’s scary and it’s like jumping of a building after holding someone’s hand, and you’re not quite sure if the person will hold on or let go- but it’s the best feeling in the fucking world- and so, so worth all of it. It’s worth all of the fucked up, shriveled pathetic excuse of a life she’s been living for the past two months.   
She’s sure she’s never letting go.   
So is he.


End file.
